Switch
by authoressnebula
Summary: Post Hell House: A gorgon opens a portal between two worlds, and the Sams from each world trade places. That's just the beginning of their problems.
1. Chapter 1

"Stay close."

"I _am _close."

"We can't screw this up."

"I _know_ that. I'm the one who told you that."

"So we gotta stay close."

"Dean, if I get any closer, I'll be sharing skin with you, which, hello, you're my brother. It's not something I wanna do."

Dean spared his brother a glare before slowly moving through the foliage, gun at the ready. Sam held his own gun up, arms stretched out tight and tense. With great reluctance he slid closer to his brother, their shoulders brushing. "Remind me again _why_ I have to cling to you like static? Bad static?"

Dean sighed. Again. "One, we've got one shot at this demon, and if we screw this up, we don't get another chance, and then we're toast. Literally, and getting blown to pieces isn't something I wanted to do tonight."

The demon really was a nasty ass thing. As far as Sam could tell, the thing was a gorgon, like Medusa. Except this one didn't turn people to stone with its eyes: it blew things up. Sam had been fascinated as to the how of it, molecules heating under a simple gaze.

Dean couldn't have cared less. He was still pissy over the fact that they'd had to wait for the full moon on a still lake to ultimately shoot the thing in the back of the head with a regular shotgun shell. Actually, 'pissy' wasn't strong enough to describe Dean's attitude right now.

"Dean, remember; we have to wait until she looks into the water," Sam said, earning a grunt of acknowledgement from Dean. Sam glared at his brother. "Dean!" he hissed.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"Don't shoot until she's looking in the water," Sam repeated.

"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time," Dean growled. Sam rolled his eyes. The details really _were_ important, and he decided to tell his brother as much.

"I'm not stupid, Sam!" Dean whisper-shouted. "Just...just shut up, all right?"

Sam huffed but didn't say anything further. For two whole minutes, and then he sort of had to say something, because he'd spotted the gorgon. "Dean. Right 500."

Dean's head whipped around to watch the demon, which was about 500 yards out to their right. It was descending towards the small lake. "'Bout damn time," Dean muttered, before slowly heading down the embankment. When Sam didn't immediately follow, he reached back and grabbed his sleeve, tugging Sam sharply. "I said stay _close_," Dean snapped, hauling Sam halfway down the embankment before Sam managed to wrestle his arm from Dean's grasp.

Sometimes he didn't know what was going on in his brother's head. If anything.

The lake was just short of being a pond, and the deepest part went to Dean's knees. (They'd checked it out hours before, which Dean also hadn't been happy about.) The gorgon headed out into the center of it, while the brothers stayed concealed in the brush and forest around the lake. Once Dean was content that the gorgon wasn't going anywhere, he gave the move ahead signal, and they cautiously entered the water.

They were about ten yards away when Dean raised his shotgun. Sam tried to see if the gorgon was looking into the water, but couldn't from his vantage point. He crept forward, twisting to avoid his brother's reach to pull him back. He continued forward, moved slightly right, then forward once more, never seeing the look of frustration and fear that crossed Dean's face. Sam could almost see her reflection...

He was stopped, paused in his attempt to look, when the gorgon suddenly turned. He hadn't made a sound, and he wasn't that close, so it hadn't been him that had triggered her attention. That was his only comfort as he quickly avoided her gaze. "Sam!" Dean shouted, and Sam threw himself to the right even as he heard the shotgun fire. There was a shriek from the gorgon, but it was too late.

Unless gorgons were shot with their gazes trained on a reflection, they'd explode anything their gaze settled on as they died. The lake had been their best shot; gorgons returned to a lake every full moon to regenerate. Unfortunately, it had been their riskiest shot, too: gorgons regenerated themselves from various dimensions they visited. If they were disrupted, there was a possibility that the portal the gorgon had opened for itself would explode.

Which Sam had tried to tell Dean before, but the jerk hadn't listened to him. And now the portal _was_ opening, Dean was shouting, and Sam felt a sensation of being pulled forward before everything went black.

"Sonuva_bitch_!" Dean shouted furiously, but he was already running to where he'd last seen Sam. The portal had appeared seconds after the round had connected with the gorgon's head, and the sliver of light had seemed to lurch forward, grabbing onto Sam before pulling him inside. "Sam, _no_!" he'd shouted, but it had been too late. The portal had taken him who knew where.

Which was why Dean had insisted they stay close, but his bitch of a brother had moved away from him, so Dean hadn't been able to haul him to safety. And now Sam was gone, leaving Dean living his worst nightmare.

"Sammy!" he yelled, knowing he wouldn't get a response, but needing to do it anyways. Fear gnawed in his gut as condemning silence surrounded him. He'd failed his brother, failed to keep him safe, possibly failed to keep him alive. "SAM!" he screamed; anything to keep the recriminating voice in his head silent.

Suddenly the air buzzed, and a flicker of light appeared where the portal had been. Dean froze, hope clogging his throat and stopping any words he might've thought of saying. Then there was a flash of light, and when Dean could see again, Sam was curled in on himself in the shallow water.

All words of anger and fury were immediately forgotten. "Sam!" He moved fast, grabbing Sam by the shoulder to pull him up. It was only when he did so that the differences caught up to his brain.

A white undershirt and gray scrub pants were the only clothing he had. No shoes, no socks, nothing else. His hair was longer and went almost to his shoulders. There was a definite growth on his face, and Dean decided that a beard just made Sam look scrawnier. He looked skinnier, but out of it all, it was his eyes that made Dean stop the most. Cold, hard, with an edge to them Dean didn't like.

Maybe there'd been a time glitch of some sorts, enough for all the changes to occur. One look at those eyes, though, and Dean knew that this wasn't his brother.

Then the man that looked like Sam frowned. "Dean?" he said, and it was Sam's voice that said it, albeit with a great deal of surprise. It was Sam's eyes that glanced around, before turning his gaze to the water beneath him. The edge was still there, but the coldness had faded into confusion. "Uh, where are we?"

"Middle of a lake," Dean said automatically, and Sam's lips slid into a smirk. Definitely wasn't his brother; Sammy didn't smirk. That was Dean's territory. Sam did the shy smiles that got people to talk.

"You're not my Sam," Dean found himself saying. He'd recognized Dean for who he was, but that just meant there was another Dean out there somewhere. His head hurt at the thought of two of him, two of Sam...ugh.

Sam (and Dean was going to have to think up a different name because this wasn't _his_ Sam) just raised his eyebrows. "Uh, no kidding," he said. "Big difference. Murky pond withstanding which, by the way, can we get out of?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, reaching to help not-his-Sam up. He got a surprised look for his trouble, and the surprise settled into wary suspicion by the time they were standing. Dean frowned. "There's a Dean, just like me, where you come from? Your brother?"

Not-his-Sam nodded slowly. "Then why'd you look at me like I've got two heads or something?"

Green eyes widened slightly. "I, uh, didn't mean anything by it. It's just...well..." Not-his-Sam frowned. "We're not close," he said uncomfortably.

Dean felt like he'd been slapped. "Not at all?" he managed to get out. After everything he and his Sam had been through, it was hard to think of a universe where he and Sam were distant.

Not-his-Sam shook his head. Screw it; he'd call this one Sam, and his Sam Sammy. There: problem solved. Well, minor problem solved. He still had to get Sammy back. And since they didn't have a gorgon anymore, Dean wasn't sure how to go about fixing things.

Dean scowled at the gorgon's corpse (and thank hell the eyes were closed now), then turned to Sam, who was staring at the body in utter shock. _Shit_. He'd never considered that this Sam didn't hunt. "You don't hunt?" Dean said weakly. Well, this Sam was about to get a crash course on the subject; Dean really couldn't avoid that now.

Sam roused himself from his stupor with a shake. "Huh? Oh, no, I hunt," he said after a moment. "I've just never hunted _that_ particular thing, that's all. And I've never, you know, hunted with you." There was a bitter smile on his lips as he spoke, and Dean wanted to smack himself in the other universe for being so damn _stupid_ to let Sam go hunting along, to go on _living_ alone.

Then Dean's eyes widened at the horrible realization that if Sam hunted alone in the other world, then who'd be there for his Sammy? "Then my Sam's alone, wherever you came from?" he said sharply, watching this Sam tense as if to fight at Dean's tone, and he hated it even as he did it, but Dean had to know. "There's no one helping him over there? Dammit; we gotta get you two switched back. Fast." He wasn't leaving his Sammy over there alone any longer then he had to.

Sam blinked a minuted, before smirking. "No; what type of idiot do you think I am? Your Sam's with my friends right now. He'll be fine," he said, lips quirking up in amusement at Dean. "Trust me; they won't let him go anywhere without them right behind him."

Dean nodded, slightly mollified. Friends weren't Dean by a longshot, but at least Sammy wouldn't be on his own. "What about Dad?" Dean asked, before snorting and shaking his head. "You two probably don't talk, do you?" Trust something like that to not change.

Sam gave him a confused look. "No, I'm really close to my dad. Always have been."

Okay, skip being slapped: Dean had been slammed in the gut. His initial happiness that Sammy would be by Dad's side was instantly turned into a horrible twisted feeling inside that if Dean and Sam weren't closer, and Sam and Dad _were_ close, then Dean and Dad probably weren't close. At all. If A equals B, and B equals C, then...

"In fact, my friends were going to get me over to see him in a couple of days. Your Sam could go in my stead. See Dad and Mom and probably you, too."

"M-Mom?" Dean stuttered, still reeling from the last revelation. God, what he wouldn't do to see his mom again. "She's...alive where you are?"

"She's with Dad," Sam repeated slowly, giving him a 'you really are crazy' look. "And in a few days time, your Sam'll be visiting with them. That is, if you don't get us switched back before then." He shrugged and looked entirely too casual, before turning towards the land. "Of course, you probably want your own Sam back, so let's see if we can't find a way to do that."

He'd trudged a few steps before Dean called out for him to wait. Sam stopped, glancing back with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk. "It's only a few days," Sam said. "Surely you can live with _me_ for a few days. Long enough for your Sam to see Mom and Dad, which apparently he doesn't get here in this reality."

Dean pursed his lips together but didn't say anything. If that smirk Sam was giving Dean right now looked anything like the smirk Dean gave his Sammy, Dean would never do it again. It was annoying as all hell. Worse yet, he was right. Dean had had four years with their mom before she'd died. Sam had had six months he'd never remember, and a single minute with her spirit back in Kansas. Dean wouldn't – _couldn't_ – begrudge him this chance to see their mom.

And it sounded like Sammy would at least be safe: he had this Sam's friends to help. Dean still wasn't sure if he liked this Sam with the smirks and toughened look to him, but Dean was starting to understand why he was like he was. If Sam was hunting by himself without anyone to help, besides a few friends, then Sam would've had to harden up and fast. No time for bright-eyed innocence or inquiring thoughts.

That was why Dean stayed by his brother: to protect him and keep him innocent and himself for that much longer. His heart ached a little for this Sam in front of him who hadn't had a protective big brother.

"It's gonna take a few days at least to figure out how to get you both switched back," Dean finally said, stepping through the water. "That'll give Sammy those few days."

That damn smirk was back. "Sammy, huh?" Sam said, before chuckling. "And he lets you get away with that?"

Dean rolled his eyes and went around the still smirking Sam up the embankment. Sammy sure as hell better appreciate this. If he heard _any_ bitching when he got Sammy back _whatsoever_, there was gonna be hell to pay.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time morning came around, Dean was losing his mind. This Sam, not his Sam, just made him want his sweet-natured, quiet brother back. Sam's smirk had stayed in place from the moment they reached the Impala ("Tight ride," he'd said, and those words had just sounded so wrong coming out in Sam's voice) all the way to the hotel ("You mean the other me stays in places like _this_?"). When the sun had risen, they'd gotten practically no research done, and Dean had never been so close to murder. The kid was pushing all of Dean's buttons like he'd been born to do it.

Plus, he wasn't a techno guru or book worm like Sammy was. When Dean had slid the laptop over the table to him, Sam had merely raised his eyebrows. "And you want me to do what with that?" he'd asked, smirk obvious in his face and tone.

Dean was going to worship his brother when he got him back.

Sam had been good at one thing, though: the weapons. He'd handled them with obvious adoration and skill, and had set to cleaning them as soon as Dean had brought the supplies out. Just by the way he'd meticulously taken the time on each weapon proved to Dean that this Sam was as experienced a hunter as Dean was.

With him taking Dean's role, though, Dean had been left with nothing to do. He'd decided to do some research of his own, about gorgons and their portals and _anything_ at all about parallel dimensions. His research, though, was scarce at best. He was out of his league on this one. He needed help to find what he was looking for.

He needed his Sammy.

"So...who do you work with?" Sam asked, sharpening a knife with ease.

"Not really anyone," Dean said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "Pastor Jim and Bobby, occasionally, but we haven't seen either of them in over a year, and Sam – my Sam – has seen them less than that."

Sam frowned. "He's not very sociable, huh?" he asked.

"Actually, he's more social than I am. He, uh, went to college for a few years," Dean said quietly. "Got a girlfriend, had a happy, normal life."

When he didn't hear anything, Dean turned in his seat to see Sam staring thoughtfully at him. "What?"

"He got to go to college?" Sam asked softly, and Dean blinked.

"Yeah. Just for a few years, and he didn't graduate. Why, didn't you go?"

Sam continued to stare at Dean before slowly shaking his head. "I never got the chance to go," he said, and Dean suddenly felt his heart wrenching again for this Sam. As much as it had hurt, Dean was glad his little brother had had the chance to go and learn, to follow his dream. The years without him had been hard to live through, but when Dean had driven up to Stanford after jobs close by and had seen his brother smiling and living...it had been the right thing to let him go.

"Why'd he come back to...?" Sam asked, gesturing out at the weapons. "You got any thin strips of leather?"

"Yeah," Dean said absently, grabbing the leather pouch they carried a few of the weapons in. One side was unraveling, and he ripped it until he had one long strip. "His girlfriend was killed by a nasty sonuvabitch demon. He came hunting with me again, trying to find the demon and Dad."

Sam took the strip from Dean's fingers and began pulling back his hair. "See, that's why I didn't go to college," he said, tying the strip around his ponytail. "I just had too much I had to do. I mean, I had dreams to go, but I had more important objectives, like hunting. And family," he added. He poked at the ponytail until he was satisfied that it would stay, before reaching for the knife again. "Your Sam doesn't sound like he gets that."

"Hey, now, wait a minute," Dean said, holding up his hands. "Sammy was always the book worm type. He never really did hunting like my dad and I do."

"So he puts his book worm talents to use by reading to help the hunting, not going off to take classes," Sam said, snorting derisively. "I mean, wouldn't you rather have a Sam like you? You obviously understand the hunt. Wouldn't that be better?"

Dean gazed at the Sam in front of him, before he quietly said, "No, I wouldn't." He'd thought he had, once upon a time. This Sam in front of him should've been his dream Sam. Sarcastic, smirking, hunt-loving, and probably beer-loving, too. He could see this Sam holding his own liquor.

It just made him wish for his own brother even more. Sweet, shy-smiling, questioning, intelligent geek that he was. That Sam was the one Dean wanted back.

The Sam in front of him regarded him with an odd expression, before turning back to the knife with a shrug. "You two really aren't in contact with a lot of people then, are you?"

Dean shook his head and turned back to the computer. "Not really, no. Well, I call my dad occasionally. Sam and I are pretty much a duo team, nothing more. Probably seems weird to you, considering your friends. How many do you normally work with?"

Sam thought it over for a minute. "About three or four constantly, six sometimes if things get really rough." The smirk was back on his face, and then he chuckled. "And things can get _really_ rough. Trust me."

"I bet they do," Dean said, slightly in awe at the fact that Sam worked in a team of hunters. He couldn't imagine the jobs being anything but easy with that many hunters. Dean didn't think he'd seen that many hunters together before in his entire life. "All good friends of yours?"

"I've known them all for a long time," Sam said. "And take a chill about your bro, all right? Kid's in good hands."

God, was he _that_ transparent with his worry? "He better be," Dean said, taking a seat in front of the laptop.

"He is," Sam assured, before setting the newly sharpened knife down. "They got breakfast in this world of yours or what?"

"You should give your dad a call," Sam said for the umpteenth time hours later as they took Chinese back to the room for dinner. He'd shaved and gotten dressed in a pair of Sam's jeans after a shower that morning. He'd scoffed at all of Sam's button up shirts and t-shirts, before snagging one of Dean's black t-shirts to wear. It was just a hair too small and stuck to his skin like it was glued on, but he didn't seem to care. Neither did any of the girls they saw. With his hair mostly pulled back in a ponytail and his bangs falling around his face, and his clothes tight on his body, he looked dangerous, the definitive Bad Boy that every girl adores.

Dean was going to worship the ground his brother walked on when he got him back.

"He might be able to cast a fresh eye on what little you did manage to dig up on gorgons," Sam continued.

Dean made a face as he dug for the room key. "I don't think he'd come. Like, I know he wouldn't. And I doubt I'd get anything but his voicemail, like I told you before."

"It can't hurt to try, though, can it?" Sam asked. "At this rate, you're not going to get your Sam back at all."

"I'll try him," Dean snapped, glaring at the Sam before him. Sam just raised his eyebrows. With a growl Dean grabbed the key from his pocket and stuck it almost viciously in the lock.

"Temper, temper," Sam admonished as the door was flung open. Dean stomped into the room, tossing the Chinese food onto the table. He was digging for his cell phone as Sam chuckled behind him, closing and locking the door.

The number was dialed, and the phone was pressed to Dean's ear. He tapped his foot impatiently, glancing over at Sam. "It'll just go to his voicemail," Dean said.

"Then leave a message," Sam said slowly, as if speaking to a child, and Dean gritted his teeth. He was going to kill this Sam, so help him, if- 

"Hello?"

Dean froze, causing Sam to frown. "What?" Sam said.

"Hello?" John said again, sounding impatient this time.

"Dad?" Dean said, unable to hide the shock in his tone. He'd actually gotten his dad on the phone. Miracles _were_ possible.

"Dean, what's the matter?" John asked, worry overruling impatience now. "What's happened?"

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "We've got a situation-"

The phone dropped from limp fingers, and Dean fell to the floor, unconscious. Long nimble fingers caught the phone mid-fall, John's worried voice echoing in the otherwise silent room. One of Dean's handguns spun impressively, before the handle was wiped against a denim clad thigh. He'd gotten blood this time; he wasn't usually so messy.

The voice increased in pitch and franticness, and his fingers raised it to his ear. "Dad, it's me," he said, sounding urgent. "I-We need your help. They've got Dean. I'm going to try to get back to the hotel. I can't...I can't take them all by myself. Oh god, Dean..."

"What are they?" John asked immediately. "Where are you?"

"Nothing I've ever seen before. We're a few miles out from a lake in Illinois. About five hours from Chicago, I think." A pause, then, in a softer, sadder, but determined tone, "I'll try to find my weapon and go back for Dean. I'll...I'll get him back. I promise."

"You get back to the hotel and stay there," John ordered. "I know the lake and the town. What hotel?"

"The Briar Rose Inn. Room 11."

"I'll be there in four hours. We'll get Dean back, I promise. Just...just hold on, okay Sam?"

Sam smiled. "Okay dad. Thanks." He hung up, placing the gun back on the table he'd lifted it from. Green eyes regarded the still form on the floor as he began to smirk. "Had to play my hand early, thanks to you," he said. "But I'm nothing if not adaptable."

He nudged Dean's leg with his foot, making sure he was out cold, then knelt beside him. He gave a snort of disgust, before digging into Dean's pocket. After a moment of searching, he pulled out the car keys. "Gotta get it all set up for Daddy dearest," Sam murmured. "Then the fun can really start."


	3. Chapter 3

The slamming of a door caused Sam to raise his head, albeit briefly. When the guard passed by with nothing but a glare for him, he rested his head once more on his knees. The slight pull of skin as his forehead settled against the coarse pants made him wince. His black eye hurt like hell, and he hadn't been given any ice for it. What was the point? It'd be a waste of ice.

He'd be dead in a day anyways.

Sam shuddered. Ever since the portal, things had been one nightmare after another. He'd stumbled through into a dark hallway, his knees hitting a concrete floor hard. Then the shock of the portal had hit him, causing every muscle in his body to spasm. He'd been in so much pain he'd curled up on himself, and hadn't seen the lights bearing down on him in the dark.

He'd heard the shouts, though, and had looked up to find several guns aimed in his direction. He'd automatically raised his hands, and had found himself brutally tackled to the ground, angry shouts in his ears. He'd been handcuffed and practically dragged to a stairway. Guns had been trained on him the entire way down the hallway, and Sam had realized just where he was: a prison.

Sam had been beyond bewildered, but when he'd tried to speak, he'd been silenced by the cocking of a gun. He'd wisely kept quiet, wondering where the hell he was and what had happened. Where was Dean? Was the gorgon dead?

Once in the main part of the prison, he'd been hauled to a small room with a grim looking man seated at one side of a long metal table. Sam had been arrested before; it happened a few times in their line of work. The sitting and waiting while they handcuffed him once more wasn't anything new.

The words the man had spoken to him had been. "Murderer," he'd spat. "Guess you didn't get very far, did you? Far enough away to get new clothes and a nice handgun. Wanted to grab a few more notches for your belt before we put you down like the animal you are?"

Sam had stared, his jaw practically on the table. "I-I think you've got the wrong guy," he'd stammered. "I've never killed a human being before in my life! You must be..."

"You think this is funny?" the man had said, his voice dangerously low. "Okay, we'll play your game. Let me jog your memory a bit." He'd stood, revealing a holstered gun on one hip and a badge on the other. He'd been playing the bad cop; Sam and Dean usually did the same thing. The only problem was, Sam hadn't seen the good cop anywhere.

Papers had been tossed down the table, and what he'd seen had rendered Sam speechless. Pictures of himself with an arrogant smirk in mugshots, pictures of bloody bodies, pictures of...

He remembered shouting denials, staring at the pictures in horror, pushing the pictures away as his dinner had threatened to make a reappearance. The guard had told him to shut up, the cop had looked disgusted, and then Sam had attempted to rise.

Sam gently touched the bruised area. Without ice, it'd probably swell until he couldn't see. He wished Dean was there with an ice pack, aspirin, and water.

He wished Dean was there, period.

Tears stung his eyes, and he clenched his eyelids shut. He'd never missed his brother so much before, never wanted him there so much in his life. As much as Dean annoyed him, Sam wouldn't want anyone else by his side. Needed Dean by his side. He hadn't realized _that_ until that night in Stanford when Dean had shown up. He'd missed his brother, smart-ass comments and all.

Sam knew if Dean were with him right now, that mouth wouldn't be stopping. He'd be telling the guards off, probably pestering about an extravagant "last meal" with bizarre requests, meanwhile thinking of an exit strategy that would ultimately get them out. That was Dean.

And the thought of what he didn't have just made his cell colder and the tears flow harder. He left his head on his knees and brought his arms into his chest. He sniffled, wiping away a few stray tears with his fingers. "Dean, man, wherever you are," he whispered, "please come help me."

Dean wished he'd never gotten his dad on the phone. His initial joy had long passed into regret. Even with John silently telling him with his eyes that this wasn't his fault, Dean knew it was. He was a freakin' _idiot_. He'd bought into the whole story, had felt bad for the kid, and had paid the price.

At least he'd removed the gag. That gave Dean a chance to give it to him. "Who are you?" he asked, anger in his tone.

Green eyes slowly turned from the table of weapons. "My name is Samuel Francis Winchester," he said, smirking. "But you can call me Sam."

Dean flinched at the name. "Where's our Sam, then?" John questioned. Talking was good. Keeping Sam talking was a good thing.

If he was talking, then he wasn't using the knives and other various weapons he'd laid out. The ones he was obviously going to use on Dean and John.

Sam shrugged, and Dean shifted in his chair. Damn but the ropes hurt. His hands were tied to the wooden back of the chair, and his ankles were tied to the legs. He'd been that way for at least five hours now. John was in the same predicament, but at least he'd only been in them for a couple of hours at best.

When he'd come to, Dean had been tied up in the chair with a gag in his mouth. Sam had been seated next to the door. The hateful smirk had appeared again when he'd raised his eyes to look at Dean. "Look who's awake," he'd said. He'd been twirling Dean's favorite knife in his hands, the blade catching in the light from outside the darkened room.

He'd heard a rumbling engine draw close, and Sam had glanced out the window. "And just in time, too," he'd said, before stepping against the wall directly behind the door.

Dean had realized several things at that point. One was that the door was open a fraction, and there was a bloody t-shirt on the floor that led into the room. The second thing he realized was that he was situated against the same wall Sam was leaning on, meaning that whoever came in would have to come all the way in to see Dean. The third thing he realized was that this was a trap, and a split second later he knew who it was for: the last person he'd been talking to.

The worst thing that Dean realized, as John had cautiously stepped into the room and called for Sam, was that this Sam had been way too good at setting this all up.

"Your Sam's where I was," Sam said, leaning against the weapon table. John glared at him, and that gave Dean the strength to do the same thing. "Remind me to thank him for that. Death row wasn't my first choice for living quarters, but..."

"Death row?" Dean said, stunned. The sonuvabitch had been on death row. _Sammy_ was on death row. "Oh god," Dean whispered, horrified.

"How long until you were due?" John asked harshly, a tremor in his voice.

Sam gave a chesire grin. "It was a few days when I first showed up here. Technically, I was due for execution on the 6th."

"Oh god," Dean choked out again. Tomorrow. He glanced around for the clock and felt his stomach plunge. 1:24 am. _Today_.

"When?" John asked, his voice tight. Dean was glad he was asking the questions; he wasn't going to be able to. Not while he was stuck on _SammydeathSammynopleaseno._

Sam shrugged. "I wasn't told. They like doing it in the early mornings, though." He reached behind him, pulling out a knife. "I thought my life was screwed up," Sam mused, gazing at the blade. "But this life takes the cake. Demons exist, and you waste your entire life hunting them to save people." He snorted. "Pathetic.

"But there's a perk in it: you're not connected to anyone, really. And you trust way too damn easily. I mean, I fed you a line about never getting a big brother like your Sam has, and you _fell_ for it!" He laughed and stepped over to John, dagger waving dangerously close to his eye. "Without those connections, you guys have no trails, nothing. Which means as soon as I kill you, I'm a free man again."

He sighed happily, and Dean's stomach twisted. "Let me sing you a goodbye song," Sam murmured, smiling at John. "'Hello darkness, my old friend'..." and he brought the blade to John's neck.

"That's if you think we'll let you get away with doing this to us, to our Sam," Dean said finally, shifting again. Sam paused, blade close enough to slice John's throat, then turned to Dean instead. He smirked and twirled the blade, advancing slowly. After he'd almost reached Dean, though, he froze.

"Wow. And I almost fell for it," he said, turning back to John. "You were going to keep me focused on you while Daddy dearest got free."

"No," John said, giving Sam a baleful look. "Dean wanted you closer so he could kick the living crap out of you."

Sam's eyes widened as he turned once more, but Dean's hands were already free. He shot up, not caring that his ankles were still tied to the chair, and dove for Sam. He brought them both crashing to the ground, then began to punch. Three solid hits, and Sam was out for the count.

Dean sat back, staring at the man below him. "He's not our Sam," John said, his voice firm but gentle.

Dean slowly nodded. "No, he isn't. And I want our Sam back." He glanced over at his dad. "Tell me you know something about gorgons and portals."

John began to smile. "As a matter of fact, I do. Get me untied; we've got to move fast."

The metal bit into his wrists, but Sam ignored it. He had more pressing matters then handcuffs. He had to buy time for Dean to come get him, because Dean _would_ come for him. He knew it.

"Move it," the guard beside him growled. The other guard shoved him forward, and Sam stumbled. When he righted himself, his gaze rose and he paled. In front of him was a single door.

Sam knew where that door led to.

"Time to go," the guard said, opening the door. Sam was shoved through again, and was then led down a hallway that was dark and smelled like rust. At the end of the hallway was another doorway that led to a lit room with a table in it. A machine was behind it, with several technicians standing around. There were cuffs on the table; he could see them now that he was closer. Cuffs to hold him down while they gave him the lethal injection.

"Oh god," Sam whispered hoarsely.

"We can get a priest for you if you want," one of the guards said, before he chuckled darkly. "Don't think God'll listen for the likes of _you_."

Through the last door, and Sam was inside the chamber. Where the hell was Dean? Not here yet, obviously. Sam'd just have to buy him more time.

"Face up on the table," one of the technicians said, turning to the guards. The handcuffs were quickly removed, and Sam's arms gripped even quicker then that.

"No," Sam said through gritted teeth, before pushing back as hard as he could. The guards immediately tightened their grip and twisted his arms behind him, forcing Sam to turn his back to the table. Sam kicked wildly, managing to connect with one of the guard's legs and causing him to stumble. All but two technicians ran forward, and Sam found himself being manhandled onto the table. "No!"

"Hold him down!" one of the technicians ordered. Ankle cuffs were locked into place first, and it did take longer for them to fasten his wrists down. It still happened, though, and Sam was strapped to the table all too quickly.

His head whipped towards the door they'd closed, hoping beyond hope that Dean would come crashing through. The clock above the door now read 4:30. "Please," he whispered, "Dean, come _on_."

"You're sure this is going to work?"

John turned to his oldest, sighing at the worry on his face. It was the only reason Dean would question his dad, and they both knew it. "No," John admitted. "But it's the only idea I can think of."

Dean nodded, turning the gorgon head in his hand away from him. After they'd bound and redressed Sam, they'd headed back down to the lake. The gorgon had still been drifting, albeit closer to shore, and John had quickly decapitated the corpse. "We only need the head," he'd explained.

The moon wasn't quite full, but nearly. Dean really hoped that the moon was only a factor for the recharging of the gorgon's internal batteries. He felt nervous and jittery, and standing in cold knee-high water wasn't helping.

If it meant getting Sammy back, Dean would gladly skinny-dip in ice cubes for a week. He just needed his brother back, and it needed to be _now_.

"Ready?" John asked. Dean nodded again, afraid that if he spoke he'd lose what little control he had over his voice. Anger and fear were dominating to take hold of him, and neither would help him get Sammy back. He needed to be calm for this. Sammy needed him to be calm. He took a deep breath and held up the gorgon head.

John pulled out his flashlight and held it at the closed eyes. Both looked away, and Dean reached out, blindly finding the eyelids and lifting them up.

As soon as the light made contact, there was a brighter flash of light that made them both wince, despite it being behind them. When Dean dared to look, the portal stood open.

"Lower the head slowly," John ordered. Every nerve in Dean's body screamed to drop it and dive through the portal, but he did as John asked. John kept the flashlight trained on the gorgon's head until it rested on the crate they'd brought with them. John set the flashlight up against the head, then pulled a small box of push pins from his pocket. Dean watched as they were pushed into the skull, keeping the eyelids open. Only then did Dean release the eyelids.

"You got fresh batteries in that?" Dean finally said, gesturing towards the flashlight. John merely nodded.

"Good. Let's go get Sammy back," Dean said, reaching down to grab the still unconscious Sam. John took hold of his other side, and as one they stepped through the portal.

The first thing Dean was aware of was the concrete he'd fallen on. The second thing was the sudden dizziness and nausea. Then the blinding pain that seemed to pull – hard – at all of his nerves. "Sonuva_bitch_," Dean muttered, groaning as he willed his body to cooperate. He had more important things to do. He a little brother to find, but _damn_ that hurt.

When the pain dissipated, he glanced up and around. Cold steel and concrete met his vision first. A dark and dank hallway that smelled like the basement was where they currently were. This had to be the prison.

Dean glanced down at his watch. 4:17 am. "Move," John said quietly, and Dean grabbed Sam once more before moving down the hallway. A stairway appeared, and Dean crept forward, leaving Sam in John's hands. He didn't see anyone, but he could hear voices and footsteps above. He motioned for John as the voices and footsteps faded, and glanced beyond him at the portal, which was still there, thank god. Once John was close enough, he turned his attention to the stairs.

It was a metal stairway which mean any sound would be magnified, but they made it to the top without alerting anyone. Dean glanced around at the hallway they now found themselves in. A door on their right, a door on their left, and the stairwell behind them. All around them were pipes. The boiler room passageway, most likely. "Now what?" Dean hissed.

Footsteps, several of them, were heard coming from the left. "Behind the pipes," John whispered sharply, and they tucked themselves behind the largest set of pipes just as the door on their left opened. Two guards in front, two guards behind, and in the middle, in a white undershirt and gray scrub pants...

Dean had almost moved out from behind the pipes before John could grab him. He glared at Dean and motioned for him to be silent. Dean glared right back at him, then turned to watch as Sam, their Sam, was moved down the hallway towards a certain death.

"Move it," a guard next to him growled, and one of the rear guards shoved Sam forward. Dean clenched his fists as Sammy stumbled. Gangly limbs and handcuffs didn't make a good match.

It was then that Dean saw the black eye his brother was sporting. He gritted his teeth, his fingernails digging half moons into his skin. John remained passive, but there was a smoldering fury in his eyes now as Sammy was led to the door. When Sammy's eyes caught sight of the single metal door, fear was evident in his face. It made Dean want to leap out and bash the guards' heads together, then hold his brother as he got him the hell out of there.

"Time to go," one of the guards snapped, opening the door. Sammy was shoved through, and Dean didn't bother waiting until they were all through to slip out. The door shut ominously behind them, but Dean was already halfway there.

"Dean, stop," John hissed, and Dean froze. "You go in there now, and they'll shoot you both," he continued. "We need a diversion to get him out."

"Like what?" Dean snapped. He felt helpless and frustrated, hated knowing that his baby brother was scared and out of his reach. He needed to get in there, dammit.

His eyes roamed around the hallway, finally catching on the emergency hose for a fire. "Do prisons give out vocal warnings for things like fires?" Dean asked.

"Sometimes," John told him. "Most times they probably just use the fire alarm. I wouldn't know where one would be, though."

"I'll find one," Dean promised, heading in the opposite direction they'd taken Sam.

John nodded even as Dean began to run. "I'll stay here. Make it convincing."

Dean didn't acknowledge that he'd heard him. They were out of time as it was. He slipped through the door, finding himself in a hallways with several doorways blocked by cell doors. Which one was the one he was looking for?

He glanced at his watch again out of habit, and the panic began to rise. 4:31. Shit. He glanced around wildly, then found the fire alarm just within reach behind one of the cell doors. It wouldn't be enough, though.

He dug through his pockets and found a crumpled up receipt. His zippo was pulled out, and he set the receipt on fire. He tossed it into a corner, and the flames caught onto cobwebs and dust, burning higher.

He reached through the cell bars and pulled the alarm, running back through the door he'd come in from. Behind him, he could hear shouts and footsteps.


	4. Chapter 4 End

Sam didn't know why they were wasting time with an alcohol swab on his arm. He was dead anyways; why bother cleansing the area of infection? They'd just pitch the needle afterwards.

His eyes darted to the clock. 4:32. No Dean. Where was he? If he didn't show up soon, Sam was going to wrap him in the girliest-ass hug _ever_ and hold him there for a whole minute, except he couldn't do it unless Dean showed up, so if he didn't Sam would be dead and couldn't hug him at all.

Tears welled in his eyes as he pulled at the restraints. He was firmly held. The technician paused at his struggling, then took hold of his arm and slid the needle in.

No. Nonono. Oh god, he hadn't told Dean how much he cared, how he'd missed him while he'd been at college, what a great brother he was. He hadn't made peace with his dad yet, hadn't told him how much he loved him, loved them both - 

A shrill alarm went up, and the technician, his hand hovering over the machine that would inject the lethal dosage, paused. "Is that the fire alarm?" he asked.

From the hallway, Sam heard distant shouts. "Get the hose!" was the loudest cry. "Fire in the main hall!"

"Move out, just in case," the guard who'd ordered him around said. "Mark and I'll stay and keep watch over _him_," the last word spit out in disgust.

The guard who'd shoved him, Mark, took his place beside the first guard. The other guards and technicians left, and the two guards took their place in front of the closed door. "Enjoy your few extra minutes," the first guard said, glaring at him. "Bet you never gave your victims those extra minutes, did you?"

Sam said nothing. The needle's intrusion was painfully evident, but there wasn't a cool liquid feeling rushing through his veins. Yet.

"If the fire's serious enough, we could just leave him here," Mark snapped, hatred in his eyes. "Let him burn away."

The slam of fear in his gut made his heart stop for a moment, and then the door was flying open, sending the two guards stumbling forward. Two swift punches had them on the floor, and as they fell, they revealed their attacker. "_Dean_," Sam gasped, fresh tears burning his eyes.

Dean's eyes narrowed in on the needle buried in Sam's arm, and he froze, his face full of horror. "Sammy?" he managed, his voice trembling.

Sam shook his head. "Not yet. The fire alarm went off."

"I know," Dean said, his temporary paralysis over now that he knew that Sam was all right. He hurried forward to undo the cuffs on Sam's ankles. "I sort of started the fire."

"It'll be put out faster than you started it," a gruff voice said, and Sam stared at the familiar figure behind Dean.

"_Dad_?"

"Hold on Sam," John said, dragging something behind him. He let it go, then ran to Sam's side. Dean had one of the arm cuffs undone by the time John had pulled the needle carefully from Sam's arm. One last cuff, and then Sam was free.

He slid off the table with John's help, then wrapped himself around him. John froze for a fraction of a second, before his arms returned the embrace. "You're gonna be fine, Sam," John murmured softly.

"Help me with him," Dean grunted, and Sam turned to see himself being lifted onto the table. This was the Sam they'd mistaken him for. This was the Sam they were disgusted with, loathed and hated with such an intensity.

This was the Sam who deserved to die.

Dean and John untied his bound wrists, then cuffed him to the table. Sam stood back, staring at the body that looked exactly like his. "Should we put the needle in?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Before John could respond, Sam moved forward, fist cocked and ready. It hit the other Sam in his eye before Dean could stop him. "Sam!" John said, taking him by the arm. It took both Dean and John to pull him away, but Sam continued to glare at the other him. He more than deserved to die.

"We've got to go," John said, and Dean tugged again at Sam. "The portal's downstairs; we just have to get to it."

Sam nodded a moment later, and they made their way out of the room. Down the hallway, then into the stairwell as fast as they could. It was a little cramped as John led and Sam and Dean stayed side by side all the way down, but Sam didn't care. Dean had yet to let go of him, and Sam had as firm a grip on his brother.

Voices were heard suddenly above them, and Sam immediately turned back to look, tense and still on the stairway. If they found him, they're probably still execute him along with the other Sam. Nothing to prove it hadn't been the both of them. Dean and John would be convicted, even though in this world they-

"Easy, Sammy," Dean murmured, pulling gently at Sam's arm. "Let's get out of here, all right?"

"Yeah," Sam said hoarsely, and followed Dean down the stairs. A bright flash of light caught his attention in the darkness, but the rattling of the metal stairs made them hurry through before Sam could brace himself for the inevitable pain. He felt pulled through again, and when they stumbled back into their world, muscles spasming once more, he could hear the shouts echoing behind them. He managed to push himself up through the pain to glance at the portal, where the distinct shapes of several men could be seen.

"Dad," Dean called out in pain, but John was already moving, shoving at a wooden crate that had the gorgon head and a flashlight on it. Both items toppled into the water, and the portal vanished.

Sam closed his eyes in relief.

Once the pain receded, Dean stood, albeit tenderly. "Okay, portal jumping? Not going on my list of Fun Things to Do," he groaned. "Why the hell did it feel like that, anyways?"

John stood slowly and shrugged. "Molecules readjusting, changing to fit the world? I don't really know. All that matters is that we're back on our side in one piece."

Dean couldn't argue with that. "You all right Sammy?" he asked as Sam slowly rose. He didn't care if his brother hated that name or not: he couldn't call him Sam. Not for awhile, at any rate.

Then Sam moaned and began to fall again. Dean moved fast, catching him halfway down. He didn't look to be in pain, but he was pale and shaking. "Adrenaline wore off," John said, confirming Dean's suspicions.

"Yeah, well, the cold water's probably not helping," Dean said, hauling Sam upright as carefully as he could. John bent first to collect his flashlight, then moved to Sam's other side. Together the three moved out of the lake and back to the hotel.

The silence became too much on the way back, and Dean began to ramble about random things. He told John about what they'd been up to since Chicago, recounting the pranks they'd pulled on each other in Texas. John stayed quiet and listened, shaking his head with a smirk at some points. Sam remained silent, not even contributing a nod or a grin. That only fueled Dean's need to ramble, worried for his little brother.

They made it back to the hotel at last, and Sam was walking fairly well on his own. His silence still unnerved Dean, though. "You want to take a shower?" Dean finally asked him. "Nice and hot. Then we can take care of your eye, which, I gotta say, looks terrible on you. You're just not a black eye type of guy."

Sam simply stood in the center of the room, gazing around at the rope and knocked over chairs. Dean didn't like it. "How about coffee? Dad can go get us some coffee." John gave him a look at the volunteering, but Dean didn't care, because Sam still hadn't spoken. "Say something!" he finally said, his worry becoming vocal as anger.

"Do you know that he was in there primarily for two deaths?" Sam said quietly, and the room fell silent, giving him the floor. "He killed a lot of people, but they had him chiefly for fratricide and patricide."

Dean suddenly understood why Sam hadn't spoken. He couldn't seem to speak now, either. "I didn't understand at first," Sam continued. "I wasn't him, I didn't even really know where I was besides a prison. So they were kind enough to show me pictures of the bodies."

Sam finally turned back towards them, tears shimmering in his eyes. "He deserved to die," he said, his voice almost a whisper. Then he turned and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click that seemed to echo in the room.

Dean wished his brother hadn't said anything at all.

"Dammit the hell," John swore softly. Then, "I'm going to go get coffee."

"You brewing the pot?" Dean asked, knowing if John dealt with coffee, it'd be heavily laced with liquor.

"I think I need to," John muttered, stepping outside. That left Dean alone in the quiet, messed up room with a quiet, messed up brother. He hadn't liked the silence before, and he didn't like it anymore now. He couldn't really do anything about it, though, until Sam came out or John came back. Sam would likely come back first, and Dean knew Sam had guessed what had happened in the room. They didn't need any further reminders of the other Sam.

Mind made up, Dean started straightening the room. When he got to the clothes the other Sam had worn, Dean didn't hesitate in tossing them into the trash. He had other shirts, and they'd buy Sam another pair of jeans. He'd rather spend the money on them then have that reminder always with them.

He righted the chair, the last piece of the room that needed fixing, before he realized the shower hadn't turned on.

He stopped outside the door, listening intently. When he heard nothing, he rapped his knuckles on the door. "Sammy?" No answer. "Sammy, you decent?" Still no answer. "For both of our sakes, I hope you are," Dean muttered, before trying the handle. It turned easily, and the door slowly swung open.

Sam was still in the prison scrubs, seated on the closed lid of the toilet. His head was bowed, his fingers clutching the sides of the toilet tight enough to warrant white knuckles. Dean opted to leave the door open. Sam obviously wasn't okay (not that Dean blamed him in the slightest, the kid was more than entitled), and after having been trapped in a prison for two days, he wanted Sam to know that there was a ready exit available.

Whether it was his presence or his thoughtfulness that did it, Dean wasn't sure, but Sam began to talk. "When they showed me the pictures, I...I lost it," he said softly, his voice hoarse. "My worst nightmares came true in visual form. And someone that looked like me had...had killed you both." He swallowed hard and tried to speak again, but no words came out.

"If I'd seen pictures of you and Dad dead, I'd have lost it, too," Dean said, moving over to the tub next to the toilet. He lowered himself until he was sitting on the edge facing Sam.

"You weren't just dead, though," Sam said, lifting his head to look at Dean. His face was tear-stained, and his eyes were red. Dean may tease his brother about being a girl because he cried, but Sam didn't really cry. Not like this. This had really broken his brother. "You were both mutilated, Dean," he continued, his voice fading into a whisper. "There was so much blood, I-"

"Hey," Dean said, leaning forward. "That wasn't me, and it wasn't Dad. We're both here, and you didn't do it. Okay?"

Sam turned away. Dean sighed, then said quietly, "You know, that other Sam? He was a lot like me."

"You're nothing like him," Sam said sharply, red eyes locking with Dean's again. "Don't say that."

"I'm not saying I'm a murderer," Dean said, holding up his hands. "I've got a point here, dude. Let me make it, all right? See, that Sam was a hunter. Wanted nothing to do with research. Spent most of the time cleaning the weapons. He was a smart-ass, smirked a lot, was way too cocky at some points. He was practically the you I'd thought I wanted: the you that acted more like me. And you know what?"

Sam slowly shook his head. Dean reached out and clasped Sam's left shoulder in his hand, looking his brother straight in the eye. "I didn't like him at all, and all I wanted back was my little brother. Just the way he was."

He smiled then, and Sam returned it, though his was still watery. He was about to land the final line that would definitely sink them into chick-flick territory, but it needed to be said, and it was for Sam. That was all that mattered. "You're the only Sam I want hanging around," Dean said simply.

"They confiscated your handgun I had on me," Sam said.

Dean paused a moment, before shrugging. "Let 'em have it. I've got other weapons." He'd gotten the only thing worth retrieving out of the other world, and it was looking him in the eyes with a smile that looked a little more solid. His eye still looked like crap, though. Dean frowned slightly and reached his thumb up to brush against the bruised skin, causing Sam to hiss. "Tell me I punched the asshole who's responsible for this," Dean said, wishing he could punch the guards again. Sam had had shiners before, but this one was going to hurt like hell, and it was going to take some time to fade away. Another reminder of what Sam had had to endure, and Dean didn't like it.

"You did," Sam said. "And you got them to stop talking, too."

Dean was already reaching around for a cloth to wrap ice in. "Why, were they monologuing like all the villains do in the TV shows?" When Sam didn't respond right away, Dean abandoned his search and turned back to his brother. "Sammy?"

Sam just shrugged. "Not really. They just...they just said that if there was a fire, it'd be easier to leave me. It was common logic," Sam added, but the simmering anger that had been underneath Dean's skin was slowly climbing to a burning fury, and he thought his analogies were appropriate, given what had Sam so uncomfortable. Sam couldn't even light the matches for a regular salt and burn, would flinch when the bones finally lit up. Dean knew how Sam felt about fire.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, not really knowing what else he _could_ say. He'd started the fire in the first place, had pulled the alarm that had launched the guards' words. He'd helped Sam and hurt him all at the same time.

Sam gave him a look that said he was stupid. "Don't be stupid," he said. "You got me out of there. That's a little more important to me. I knew you'd find me."

"Damn straight," Dean said immediately, and Sam gave another small smile that was definitely solid.

Then Sam frowned. "Uh, what about the gorgon head?"

"It's buried in water," Dean said, rising. "That's where it's safe, right?"

Sam nodded. "Then we'll worry about it later. Take a shower; I'll get you some fresh clothes and we can...toss what you're wearing," he finished lamely after he'd paused. He'd been about to say that they should burn the scrubs, but figured Sam didn't need that right now.

He found the washcloth he was looking for near the door, and was a foot into the room when Sam called his name. Dean glanced behind him, and Sam finally said a moment later, "Thanks." They both knew he was saying it for more than one thing.

Tonight was just going to be a chick-flick night; it couldn't be anything else after what Sam had been through. Despite that knowledge, Dean found himself smiling. "You're welcome," he said, then stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

John was seated at the table, three coffees in front of him. "No Jack?" Dean asked, surprised.

John shook his head as the shower started. "No. Maybe later." A pause, then, "You did good. He needed that."

"He needs his dad, too," Dean found himself saying.

John sighed. "I know. I was going to drop off the coffees and just leave tonight, but..."

"You mean day," Dean corrected, glancing outside. The sky was already light, and the sun would be up shortly. The clock read a little after six. Had it only been that short a time?

"Then I should definitely go," John said. "I'm getting closer, and even in the daylight, things aren't sa-"

"Just one day," Dean found himself pleading, stepping in front of John. "Just one frickin' day. You can't put us into that much danger with just one day."

John pinched his lips. "Dean, I'm trying to protect you two."

"All you'll do if you leave now is break Sam," Dean said, letting his anger rise to the surface. "Dammit Dad!"

"He'll be alive!"

"He _needs_ you!" Dean all but shouted, keeping in mind the person he'd just put back together who was in a shower, not a soundproof booth. John stayed silent, and Dean plowed ahead. "They showed him pictures of you and me carved up after the other Sam had decided to practice his Thanksgiving turkey routine on us. _Pictures_ so he wouldn't miss any of the details. And then they told him he did it." His anger had all but disappeared, and Dean breathed out the last of it in a heavy sigh. "God Dad, I don't know what I would've done if they'd done that to me. And I'm not the empathic one like Sam is."

John remained silent, but there wasn't a tension in his body or anger in his face. There was just quiet acceptance. "You don't have to stay all day," Dean said. "Just even five minutes-"

"I'll stay," John said quietly, and Dean felt himself relax. "I'll stay until he tells me to leave."

"That'll be all of seven minutes, the rate you two go," Dean joked, and John chuckled.

"I'm not sure we'd even last that long. I wouldn't bet on it."

"Good thing I don't play poker or care about horses then," Dean said easily, grabbing the ice container from the table. His dad would stay long enough for Sam to be okay, and then things would be better than okay. He had Sam back. It was good to have his dad back, but he knew John would leave. That was something he expected as much as the sunrise. He could handle that.

What he couldn't handle was Sam hurt and broken further than he already was. Dean had spent the good portion of the year putting his little brother back together; he didn't want to see all his good work go down the drain.

He also didn't think he could handle his brother leaving, but that was a different matter for a different day.

He opened the door and was about to head off to the ice maker when he stopped and glanced back at John. "Uh, Dad?"

"Yes Dean?"

"That gorgon head...it's safe underwater, right?"

"I'm not sure. I think so."

Dean made a face. "How easy is it to get rid of a gorgon, anyway?"

"It's not. It's exceedingly messy."

"We're going back to the lake, aren't we." It wasn't even a question.

"_You_ are going back to the lake, and you'll take your brother along with you. I'll be gone by then."

Dean tossed a glare over his shoulder but didn't put any heat in it. John gave an honest to goodness smile, and Dean sighed dramatically before he went off to get ice for Sam's shiner. Messy gorgon, bruises, disappearing dads, bring it on. Dean could handle it.

So long as he had his little brother, Dean could handle anything.


End file.
